Thursday, February 12, 2015
In Jolly Fashion
In an orderly fashion the splinters contain us,
In order to get through a weakling or one of ink.
He left life, fraternity and produce to become a monk,
In his early twenties and his unique collection.
Very much certain was he, to transfer a nail
To the imperative mode, a nail driven into the cross.
With great patience, one collector wrote too many words,
And the inside were lines thrown away, broken and plain,
To be the transport of the day and night, feelings of the rose.
It was a purple colour winning painted roofs and ceilings,
In an orderly fashion his monastery beamed on the village
With lights, and he rose to heavenly glory after much jolliness.
Topic(s) of this poem: life